She’s right. She’s completely right.
It would take me a long-ass time to gather enough info and gain enough leverage over them to take them down on my own. But the Jackals, the other major gang in Fairview Heights, have manpower and firepower and whatever other kind of power is necessary to take a group like this down.
The two gangs are already at odds with each other, so it’s the perfect setup. They’d probably jump at the chance to have the Black Roses out of the way, if only they had the insider info necessary to make that happen.
And I can be the one to give that to them.
I can use my position as a prisoner in the guys’ house to dig up shit on the Black Roses, then let the Jackals do the dirty work.
I smile, feeling hopeful in a way I haven’t since I watched my dad die. That’s what I’ll do.
I’ll get the Jackals to help me.
6
Scarlett and I don’t stay out for much longer. After talking for a few more minutes, she hugs me and makes me promise to be careful, and more importantly to stop ignoring her texts.
I make that promise without hesitation. Having someone else who knows what’s going on helps me feel less like I’m battling this alone, and talking to her helped me find a path through this that will be better and more likely to succeed than anything I came up with on my own.
Once I get back to the house, I head upstairs quickly, thankful when I don’t run into any of the guys. Slipping into my bedroom, I make a beeline for the attached bathroom and splash some water on my face. Then I towel off and look at my reflection in the mirror.
“Jesus,” I mutter, grimacing.
It’s no wonder Scarlett and Rory—and, hell, even Levi—only had to take one look at me to know there was something going on. It’s all there for them to see if they look hard enough.
Pain and anger burn like twin flames in my eyes, radiating out to the downturn of my lips. The trauma I’ve been feeling is on full display, my face revealing way too much about my internal state.
I told Rory a half-truth about my mother’s death to deflect him from his questions about what was wrong with me, but it shouldn’t have come to that in the first place.
If I want to be serious about this plan that’s developing in my mind, I can’t spend another day moping or hiding. I need to make moves and find a way to get into the guys’ confidence. I can’t hold them at arm’s length anymore.
Before my dad’s death, things were developing between me and all three of them. I never meant for it to happen, but I can’t deny it to myself. Some kind of attraction was growing, blurring the lines between friend and lover and enemy. It’s sort of easy to see how it happened with Rory and Levi, but there was some kind of fucked up push-and-pull happening with Sloan, too—although we both tried not to admit it.
At the time, I told myself that I couldn’t let it keep happening, but everything is different now.
It seems like a long time ago that I was worried about dropping my own guard around them, but now the shoe is on the other foot, really. I need them to drop their guards around me.
So whatever was happening between us, whatever was breaking down the walls and blurring the lines between collateral and something else, I have to lean into those feelings more.
Before we parted ways, Scarlett promised to put feelers out and find someone who’s got an in with the Jackals for me. Someone who can put me in touch with one of their gang members so I can strike a deal with them and offer info that can help the Jackals take down the Black Roses.
But if I’m going to strike that deal, if I’m going to get them on my side in all of this, I have to have something to bargain with. They won’t lift a finger unless I have some information for them, something they can use and act on that will make listening to me worthwhile.
I’ve been hoping to unearth useful information about the Black Roses since I was brought to this house at the very beginning of this mess, but now it’s more important than ever. And there’s no way I’m going to get anything worthwhile by hiding in my room.
So I have to act, plain and simple. I have to be proactive and get the ball rolling so this can be over and done with. My dad never dragged his feet when it came to doing something for me, and I’m going to put the same effort and dedication into getting revenge for his death.
It’s what he deserves.
I stand in front of the mirror for a moment longer, forcing myself to smile and adjusting the expression on my face to make it look more natural. It takes a bit of work, but after a few tries, I think the only person who would notice I still look exhausted and sad underneath it all is Scarlett or someone I’m really close to. Hopefully, the guys don’t know me quite that well yet.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I go to my dresser and rummage around inside, looking for something to change into. I went to meet Scarlett in jeans and a t-shirt, but that isn’t going to work for what I have planned now.
I don’t want to be too overtly sexy, nothing obvious that screams “seduction” or whatever. Just something a little provocative, something to draw their eyes and keep their attention.
In the end, I settle on going for comfort and appeal all in one. I take off my bra and put on a tank top, one that’s just old enough that it’s a little worn and gives a good view of the fullness of my tits and the outlines of my nipples. For my bottom half, I pull on the shorts I usually sleep in. They’re soft, cotton, and black, but most importantly, they’re tiny.
It looks like I’m just dressed down for bed, which is appropriate for the time of day, but when I look in the mirror again, I know the outfit is a winner. I look sexy, but I also don’t look like I’m trying to look that way.
With one last glance at myself, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and head back downstairs.
Of course, Sloan is the first one I run into. He’s sitting on the couch again, this time without his laptop, and he glances up at me and then away, but double-takes to look back when he notices what I’m wearing.
I pretend not to be aware of it, but I can see out of the corner of my eye the way he notices me. His gaze rakes over my entire frame from head to toe in a slow wave, and I can feel my body reacting to the heat in his eyes. My nipples peak, going hard and tight, and I know that it must be at least a little noticeable through the thin material of my top.
“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask, settling onto a large easy chair and tucking my legs beneath me.
Sloan’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
I purse my lips, digging deep to come up with the easy sass I usually address him with. It feels false as hell, but it actually sounds pretty good when I speak. “Jesus. Can’t I ask you a simple fucking question without you turning into a grumpy asshole? I was just wondering.”
“I’m not sure,” he says shortly.
I scoff. “Very helpful. Thanks.”
His jaw clenches, and although I can tell he’s studiously trying to ignore me, his gaze flicks in my direction again, landing on my cleavage before shifting away. “If I knew why you were asking, maybe I could be a bit more helpful.”
Leaning my elbows on the arm rest, I cock my head at him. “Do you like street racing?”
“What is this, twenty fucking questions?”